Pommel First
by RavenStyx
Summary: Erza's social ineptitude gets her into trouble more often than not. Jellal's hired to do the impossible.


Request 2.

Erzadragonborn said: I still salivate at the idea of Eileen hiring high-end escort Jellal for her socially inept daughter's companion to a handful of important events.

 _Fairy Tail belongs to Hiro Mashima_

* * *

 ** _Pommel First_**

* * *

 _February_

Grey smoke lifted towards the cathedral-style ceiling. Jellal only partially watched its ascension because to watch it with any great attention was to crave a cigarette. There were impressions to be made, though. This was the highest contract he'd had come his way in a long time and to land it was to buy top shelf next week. Boxed wine just didn't cut it when you were entertaining.

"She's eccentric," Jellal was warned again.

"You said."

Eileen Belserion let lift and fall the toe of her white, pointed shoe. "I just want you to understand."

Jellal fingered the swirl of gold filigree in the white armchair he sat in. "I've had _plenty_ of experience with eccentric, Miss Belserion. Your daughter's hardly the first client I've had that prefers to spend her time indoors out of the public's eye."

Her smile didn't come anywhere near her eyes. "My daughter's not your average shut-in. I don't imagine she'll be wooed by smiles and compliments and whisked onto the dancefloor willingly like your other clients. You'll need guile, cunning, and a little bit of luck."

"If you didn't think I could do the job, you wouldn't have paid me such an exorbitant amount of money."

"Well." She sipped the tequila sunrise one of her staff brought to her. "That's not entirely true. People are _expecting_ my daughter to be at this fundraiser, my chief of staff tells me that it's a big deal, so I'll hire the best I can find and I'll close my eyes, Mister Fernandez, and hope for the best outcome."

"What time should I arrive?"

Miss Belserion handed him a red and pink and black invitation. "I'd be here an hour earlier."

Jellal smiled and stood. "Thank you. It was nice to meet you."

She sighed and put her chin on her hand, choosing to look out at the encroaching snowstorm instead of responding. Jellal, with the help of one of Miss Belserion's staff, navigated out of her mansion.

* * *

Early wasn't really in his repertoire, he was more of an arrive exactly when he needed to kind of man, but Jellal made a conscientious effort to be at the Belserion mansion at six o'clock, an hour before the dinner and reception as his employer suggested.

The same man that had shown him out two days before answered the door.

Jellal smiled, pouring on the charm. "I'm here for Miss Scarlet, please."

"This way, Mister Fernandez." The man led him into the Belserion mansion, past ancient things like suits of armour and vases that had date stamps hundreds of years' old. Jellal was careful not to touch any of them. He'd made that mistake only once before when he was young and was new to this and had his entire pay stripped of him for two months just to pay for the damages.

Down a passageway lined with maroon carpet and through hallways spotted in scenic paintings, past two dining rooms, a reading room, a sitting room and a sewing room, past a kitchen, to a set of large, ornate doors.

"You'll find Miss Scarlet inside," the butler said before bowing shallowly and making his escape. Jellal stared after him. A butler. A real-life butler. He'd been in some swank places before but this mansion was something else entirely, an odd mix of modern and historic, charismatic and eerie in the empty, echoing halls.

He adjusted his suit and fixed his bowtie, making sure that it was both tight and straight. He ran his fingers through his hair lastly, making sure it was all slicked back, and then knocked on the door.

There was no response.

Jellal knocked again.

Still, nothing, though he could hear someone inside, he thought, shuffling feet tapping over marble floors, rapid movement.

Jellal knocked on the door again and then opened it, figuring that was fair warning. He hadn't made it a step inside when a long, smooth blade appeared and almost touched his nose, wielded by a red lady. Well. She herself wasn't red. Not exactly. Her hair. Violent, violent red, like her mother's, Jellal surmised. She wore a decorative breastplate and, of all things, heels.

"Miss Scarlet?" Jellal pulled out his _best_ smile, the one he'd practiced in the mirror too many times.

If she was impressed, she didn't show it. "Mister Fernandez?" The tip of the blade wobbled just slightly. She was practicing but he didn't think she was an expert swordswoman, not yet. Was this a new pastime?

"Jellal, please."

"Jellal." She sneered his name. "Nice to meet you. Now, I hereby absolve you of this evening's duties. Go home. Goodbye."

Jellal wasn't at all surprised. "Forgive me if I decline. I have a lot of money riding on this evening."

"You'll still be paid," she told him.

"My name will be besmirched."

"Besmirched? Who uses that word?"

Jellal pushed the wavering sword aside a few inches so he could step closer to her. "I thought someone who wore parts of suits of armour and hurled around swords would appreciate such language."

Her lip twitched. It was a smile before she bludgeoned it. "Do you enjoy armour, Jellal?"

"I never thought so until now."

"Your flattery is weak."

"Then why are you smiling?"

She dutifully smoothed her features again. "What exactly has my mother tasked you with?"

"Escorting her lovely, and painfully awkward daughter through an evening of socializing, schmoozing and smiling."

"As I thought. I'd rather stay home and practice my swordsmanship."

"In case we suddenly lose all of our civility and descend into the medieval era again, right?"

"Are you mocking me?"

"I just think the time for barbarism is over. It's safe to put the steel away."

"It's a useful skill. And not a barbaric one. I think, anyway. There's flare and passion and skill and honour, Mister Fernandez."

"Jellal," Jellal said again.

"Yes. Whatever."

Her dismissive tone intrigued him rather than turned him off. "It seems like you're passionate about the subject."

"Of course. Swordsmanship is in my blood. My great, great, great grandfather was a knight. Fighting great battles and lopping the heads off traitors." She made a minuscule movement toward Jellal's neck that made him a little nervous if he was truthful. He hid it and didn't flinch.

"Why don't you tell me all about it on our way to the reception? I rented a car."

"Is that meant to impress me?"

"No, but I thought perhaps you'd take pity on me and accompany me to this thing."

Erza huffed. "What do you care?"

"To be honest?" Jellal said in a hushed whisper. "Your mother is a little bit scary and I promised her that getting you out of the house was something I could do."

"So you want me to help you impress my mother?"

"And along the way, maybe I could impress you?"

"Unlikely," she said smoothly.

"You're right. How silly. Maybe I could have a chance to do my job, though?"

She pursed her lips. "Very well." Down went the tip of the sword. She handed it to him pommel first and then yanked the armour up and over her head. Beneath it was a soft purple dress with a high neckline and a hem that sat high on her thigh. When her mother said she was eccentric and impatient with social events, Jellal had expected a pauper but this looked like it wasn't Erza's first rodeo.

She caught him looking and raised her brow. "Yes?"

"I should like to compliment you."

"And I should not like to hear it." She sauntered by him trailing jasmine perfume. Jellal caught up using long steps. He wasn't able to get the door for her, the house's nor the car's, and when he tried to engage her in conversation as their driver drove them across town to her mother's celebration party, she shut him down at almost every turn.

She was tougher than most of the women he took out. The others would eventually be won over by a smile and his wit and would admit at the end of the evening that they had a wonderful time. Jellal wasn't sure that was going to happen with Erza but he'd put her through the ropes and see.

The reception was held at the retrofitted courtrooms. Everything had been dragged out of the old building, now it was just a place with interesting sculptures and fascinating histories. Once the car had dropped them off at the front doors, Jellal made sure to slow on the salted steps and point out the wall sculptures to Erza, despite the fact that admiring a stenciled kneeling man with a sword pointed at his throat seemed like macabre date material.

Erza was unbothered. Fascinated, even, reaching up and fingering the lifted edge of the sword. "I never noticed the sculptures before."

"The building's full of images like that," Jellal said. "When I looked up the history of it, I read that the sculptor made it that way as a deterrent for budding criminals. He thought it'd be helpful if they could see what future crimes would get them if they were caught."

"Why did you bother with a history, Mister Fernandez? Just to impress me?"

"Jellal," Jellal told her again.

Again, she said, "Whatever."

"I'm getting my Masters in History. If you're impressed, it's my natural charm."

She harrumphed. "I accused you of _trying_ to impress me, I never said that I _was._ "

"But you're smiling, so I think that you are. A little. Amused at the very least."

She rolled her eyes. "Let's get tonight over with."

Jellal reached for the door. Erza beat him to it and opened it herself, revealing a hugely wide room made of mahogany and gold.

"You won't let me open doors for you or compliment you. At least let me take your arm."

She looked at him sideways. "No."

Jellal lifted his hands. "Very well." He satisfied himself with keeping up with her long steps.

When they were stopped by officials and Erza would rather choose silence, Jellal directed the conversation, touching on politics, economics and, with those he'd spoken to for more than ten minutes at a time, recreation.

He danced with Erza twice. The first time, she was stiffer than a board. The second time, she relaxed some and smiled just a touch but she stepped on his feet a lot. She seemed embarrassed and cut out before the song was over, leaving him on the dancefloor.

She didn't blend in with the crowd, her hair was too bright for that. Jellal used it as a beacon to track her retreating figure onto the balcony. He snagged two champagne glasses from a waiter before following into the cold and snowy air.

Erza was facing away from Jellal with her arms crossed on the railing. They were alone. Jellal wasn't quiet as he came to her side, not wanting to startle her. He mimicked her stance and handed her the champagne glass. Erza took it, considered the gold liquid, and then tossed it all back in two short gulps.

"I hate social events," she said when she was through.

"I agree."

"You do?" She sounded surprised for the first time that night.

"Sure. They're awful. Everyone's judging you, you have to say the right things at the right times, laugh the right way."

"But you're an escort. It's your job to bring people to places like this."

"Because it's what I'm good at," Jellal admitted. "I don't have to like it to be good at it, though."

"Hm," she murmured.

Jellal pulled a package of cigarettes from his pocket. "Do you mind?"

"No. Go ahead."

He lit one and pulled on it slowly, filling his lungs and breathing out the smoke again. "I told you why I don't like them. What's your story?"

Erza was freer with this information. "My mother is a politician and by proxy, I am, too. I've never been very good at doing the politician thing, though. It makes me feel… confined. And I have to dance."

"You don't like dancing?"

"I love it," she said with a little bit of zeal. "But I'm not very good at it."

Jellal jabbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. "Maybe we should try again?"

"What about your feet?"

"What about them?"

"What if I step on them again?"

"It's only me out here to see it."

She still looked stubbornly against the idea. Jellal downed the rest of his champagne and put the fluted glass on the railing. He did the same to Erza's empty glass and then took her by the hips. "I won't take no for an answer."

She was stiff moving but eventually, she loosened up again. Having a few bruised toes were worth it.

* * *

 _May_

"Miss Scarlet."

She was in her armour, again and again, she was flinging around her sword. Again, it came to rest centimetres from Jellal's nose. "Mister Fernandez."

"Jellal."

"Then it's Erza."

"Erza."

"Has my mother hired you for another night of escorting around her socially inept daughter?"

"I guess at least I know one of you was impressed by my talents the last time."

"Your endurance, actually. How were your feet?"

"Bruised for weeks afterwards. Not to worry, though. Tonight, I wore tougher shoes."

She smirked and thrust the pommel of her sword in his direction. Jellal dutifully took it again while she lifted up the heavy breastplate and threw it on the settee in the office she'd claimed as a training ground. She wore a dress sheathed in black lace this time, the skin of her arms visible through the fabric and the top of her chest, the very topmost swells of her breasts. Her hair was like flames against the dark fabric.

"Yes?" she queried.

"I should like to compliment you."

"I still wouldn't like to hear it." Jellal grinned. Erza rolled her eyes. "It's not healthy to enjoy being scolded."

"Is it then unhealthy to enjoy scolding?"

"It's presumptuous to suggest that I do."

"It's also presumptuous to suggest that it's unhealthy," Jellal told her. "I know plenty of people that would disagree. Myself being one of them, as you so delicately pointed out."

Erza flushed. Jellal smiled and offered her his arm. She declined, pushing past him so she could get her coat and her belongings so they could enjoy a second evening out on the town, this time for her mother's birthday party. Why did it have to be a public event? That was likely a question that plagued Erza, not Jellal, he stepped into the situation gaily.

The car Jellal had rented dropped them off at the theatre doors. Erza beat him up the stairs again and opened the door for them. Inside was a bursting crowd. Jellal stopped at the coat check first and then offered Erza his arm. Just like the first time, she didn't take it. He wasn't too deterred.

* * *

 _June_

Summer Solstice saw Jellal in the Belserion mansion for a third time. Eileen answered the door. She was in her best party wear, a blue shimmering dress.

"How many times will you hire me, Miss Belserion?" Jellal greeted.

"Don't tell me you're getting tired now," Eileen responded. "I think my daughter almost tolerates social events these days."

"Is that so?"

"She told me the last one was _fine_ , can you believe it? That's the best review I've heard in years."

"Hm." Last time, he'd left Erza on her doorstep with a smile and a kiss on her cheek that she made sure to tell him she didn't ask for. "In that case. I'll see if we can have another fine evening."

"You know where to find her."

Jellal showed himself into the mansion and followed the sounds of Erza's tapping high heels on the marble floor. He opened the door and watched her move for several moments without interrupting. For a woman who claimed she couldn't dance, she could wield a sword well enough, spinning and spinning at a dizzying speed, jabbing and slashing at invisible foes.

She suddenly stood before him. Jellal looked down the long line of her sword and studied Erza's pinked cheeks and hair. It had at one point been combed and styled. Now it was knotted. "Jellal."

"Erza."

"I suppose you're here to bring me to the solstice. Which really means you're here to ensure I don't embarrass her."

"I don't think you could ever embarrass her," Jellal responded. "Get her into trouble, perhaps, when you slice through the vulturous media in that unique way you have, but embarrass her?" He shook his head.

"Is that why she keeps hiring you?"

"She keeps hiring me because she's on to you."

Erza's nose scrunched. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He smiled with teeth. "She knows you like me."

Erza snorted and handed him her sword, pommel first. Jellal gladly took it and watched her wriggled out of the breastplate. Beneath, she wore a green dress with a satin trim neckline. "Before you ask, you may not compliment me," she said with authority and swished past.

"As the lady wishes." Jellal dumped the sword with the armour and followed.

The car dropped them off by the riverside. Jellal got out Erza's side. She immediately took him to the corndog stand and got two. Jellal bought his own and was glad he did, Erza ate the others right there in front of him with a challenging look on her face.

Once he had his in hand, Erza started walking over the fresh green grass, past an excess of children getting their faces painted, more playing tag, toward the slowly meandering river. She stopped at its stoned edge.

Though the water was still chilly, some brave teenagers jumped in, yelled, and jumped back out again into their towels. Some canoes and longboats slid gracefully over the water's surface, and a gaggle of geese waddled on the banks despite the ruckus.

This celebration was very different than the last few Jellal had been hired to attend. More laid back. Erza seemed to be more at ease here, too. Jellal attributed it to the open air, laughter, and lack of snotty politicians chomping at her heels, trying to catch her on her worst behaviour.

She turned to look at him and the sun caught in her hair, making it burn. "Can I ask you something?"

"Is it to compliment you?"

"No," she laughed, then sobered again. "Why do you keep coming with me to these things?"

"It's good money," he said because he thought that's what she wanted to hear.

Erza had him in her crosshairs. "It was good money for the other men my mother's hired, too, and none of them has taken the position more than twice."

"I can't answer without complimenting you."

She sniffed. A band got on the small stage. Jellal asked, "Would you dance with me?"

"You mean can I step on your feet?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

* * *

 _September_

"Jellal." Erza's back was to him. Her armour glinted in the fading sunlight that dared come through the western-facing window. "How many times is this?"

"Four, I believe."

"A) how many parties can one politician _possibly_ need to attend in a year?"

"As long as they can breathe, they'll find events they need to be at," Jellal said.

"And B) people are going to start to whisper if they see me arrive on your arm _again_."

"People whisper if you do or if you don't," Jellal replied. "And to be honest, Erza, you've never arrived _anywhere_ on my arm."

Her face split into a grin that she held as she practiced the last swing of her sword and ended again with it inches from Jellal's nose. It wavered not at all now. Jellal said, "You're getting better."

"So are you." She handed him the pommel and shucked off her armour. Beneath was a midnight blue dress that opened in a deep neckline that revealed more than it hid. The fabric was diaphanous and flowy and stopped just under her thigh.

"You look beautiful."

She pursed her lips. "You were supposed to ask if you could compliment me."

"You never would have let me." He waved her on and Erza sashayed past.

Tonight, the car took them to a stuffy mansion on the other side of town where they stepped into a catered dinner. Jellal sat between Erza and an esteemed surgeon and did double duty, not only acting as the filter there but also between her and the commissioner of the police department, as well, who sat directly across from Erza.

Did she behave? Did Erza _ever_ behave? Jellal did his best, sucking up all of her attention by asking her about her swordsmanship. It was a topic she was fervent about. Her cheeks shone when she got into it and he liked it quite a lot.

He monopolized her time. Everyone else seemed to notice and stopped trying to engage her altogether. When dinner was done, Eileen stood and said a few words that Jellal didn't listen to. People broke up to rest before dessert. Jellal took Erza's martini out of her hand without asking and helped her stand. Surprisingly, she didn't fight. Maybe it was the drink she'd had that made her less quarrelsome.

Jellal had no idea where he was going in this massive house. Away from everyone as much as he could. His efforts found him in a music room with a sliding pocket door. Erza followed him in and spun in a circle, looking around the place.

"Isn't it interesting the way people decorate their homes? My mother loves relics. Mister Everlue leans towards modern things. How is your house decorated?"

"I have an apartment," he responded.

"Your apartment, then."

"Not with much," Jellal said and sipped Erza's martini. She noticed he had it and retrieved it from his hand. She slipped away from him again well before he could grab her and sat on the edge of a bench that sat before a grand piano. Her gaze was up on the ceiling, examining the silver latticework there. Jellal sat behind her and touched the ends of her hair. Erza shivered.

"You're making a lot of bold moves tonight, Mister Fernandez."

"Jellal," he told her. "Remember?"

"Honestly?" she asked as she leaned back ever so slightly. "No."

"You're a liar, Miss Scarlet."

She looked back over her shoulder and searched his eyes. She was very, very difficult to read.

"I should like to kiss you."

"Because you're being paid to?"

"I volunteered tonight," he said.

Erza's eyebrows went up. "Really?"

"Yes."

She faced forward again and gathered her cheek between her teeth, making her cheekbone sharp. Jellal dared to touch her middle, sliding one hand over her ribs and taking her shoulder with the other. He put his mouth to her ear. "Is that a yes?"

Erza took in a deep breath and closed her eyes. Her head tilted back and Jellal pulled her more completely against his chest. There, when she turned her head just a little, he could kiss her and martini wet lips. She reached back with her free hand and cupped the back of his neck to hold his mouth to hers. Jellal made the kiss long and slow, feeling the swell of her lips, the soft press of her tongue, the not-so-gentle expansion of her ribs as she took in one fast breath after the other.

A rhythmic clopping of a heel on hardwood floor made Jellal lean back. Erza wiped the edge of her lip and stood, offering Jellal her hand. He took it just as the door opened and the owner of the house came through. Jellal, for the life of him, couldn't remember his name.

"There you are, Miss Scarlet. Dessert's ready."

"Thank you."

The man disappeared. Jellal said, "Will you have dinner with me tomorrow?"

Erza grinned. "No."

* * *

 **This was a bit out of my talent zone. And I've had difficulties writing lately. Sorry if it's shoddy.**


End file.
